


The Devil Went Down to Santa Barbara

by sebviathan



Series: in between the lines (there's a lot of obscurity) [7]
Category: Psych
Genre: Canon Compliant, Character Study, Episode Tag, Gen, M/M, Psychtober, Religious Undertones, Shawn's POV, s04e04 the devil is in the details... and the upstairs bedroom, the shassie is minor tbh
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-10-15
Updated: 2016-10-15
Packaged: 2018-08-22 12:02:11
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,637
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/8285162
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/sebviathan/pseuds/sebviathan
Summary: Shawn's last confession was in 1995. There's a reason it's been so long.





	

**Author's Note:**

> for day 14 of [psychtober](http://psychtober.tumblr.com/post/151119738385/yo-content-creators-of-the-psych-fandom-if).

Gus was the one to convince him to do it—just like with everything else he's ever done that was a conventionally good decision.

Gus has been the only person he's even _talked_ to in the past several days, so it's only fair he takes his advice after sleeping on his floor and freeloading for this long.

 

_"You said you're feeling guilty in a way you don't understand. I know—as much as it annoys me—that you've never been religious, but if there's any expert around here who can figure out your guilt, it's a priest."_

 

He's probably right, but Shawn doesn't like it. It's been years since he's even stepped foot in a church, and there's always been some kind of bitter feeling in him... Probably about his dad, a guy who was never even religious either, forcing him to go on Sundays. And about all the logic that's been drilled into him from birth making it impossible for him _not_ to see all the flaws—making it impossible for him to have any faith after age twelve.

Sometimes Shawn sees that as an advantage. Sometimes he sees others praying, whether for better for worse, and feels jealous.

Gus isn't with him when he walks into the church, partially because he wants no association with Methodists, and partially because Shawn prefers it this way. His friend's support would just feel odd, here.

He's got three layers on when he walks in. Hands in his pockets, his hair a tangled mess and falling in front of his face. There's probably some symbolism there, he can't help but think. The few others in the church at this hour probably assume he's homeless, he also thinks. They wouldn't be entirely wrong.

Shawn has to ask someone where the confessional booths are. He's not embarassed by that, but he does feel unnerved at the dirty looks he's given by a few of the churchgoers sitting in the pews.

_Aren't these people supposed to be non-judgmental?_

It makes him hesitate opening that confessional door, but he ultimately does sit down.

"...Bless me Father for I have sinned, it's been forever since my last confession," he says, after a moment adjusting to the dark.

The priest chuckles. "Feels like that, hm?"

"No, it's, uh... literally been forever. Unless you count my past lives, or when I was a fetus—I know you guys consider those things 'people,' right?"

"Um..." He doesn't sound amused. "What would you like to get off your chest, my son?"

"That's actually the thing... I don't even know, Father. I feel guilty as hell and I didn't even do anything wrong."

"Well, what did you _not_ do wrong?"

"I, um. My parents divorced. They've been divorcing for a while, and they finally did, and my mom left the house for good." Shawn feels nauseous, but tries to swallow it down. "And later that day, I kinda... impulsively stole my neighbor's car. It was a distraction, I guess, and—"

"Hold on," the priest stops him, sounding confused. "You said you didn't do anything wrong."

"Right."

"You stole your neighbor's car."

"Yes. Okay, I get where you're going with that, but I already paid the price for it. My dad found me and arrested me, and I spent a few nights in holding. I _know_ this isn't about the car—they got it back, undamaged. It's not a problem."

"Perhaps you feel guilty about breaking the law, seeing as your father is a police officer?"

"Ha, nope. Not it. I have felt _no_ desire to please that guy since I finished puberty, trust me."

"What about your neighbor's feelings? Do you feel it's morally wrong to steal?"

"That's not—" Shawn clenches both fists and fights back the urge to slam them on the bench. "Okay, let's get off the car. It has nothing to do with this. I've never felt that guilty about stealing before, I'm just—I don't know why I'm feeling so shitty!"

"Excuse—"

"Sorry for the language, Father. But listen, the point is, I know it's not my fault my mom left, and I don't care about the car. Or at least I shouldn't. I tried to narrow it down, and I hate my dad, so that's out. There was also this, um, cop. At the station. It's, ha—it's stupid, but he talked to me when I was in the cell, and we had some of the weirdest flirting I've ever done in my life, and I told him he should come find me or call me when I got out. I've been thinking about him the whole past few days, but I don't think he's what I'm guilty about, either."

He goes on, much further on than he meant to. He gets things off his chest that have been buried down for years, things that never felt important before but now feel like a great weight has been lifted.

He mentions things of Gus's that have been hidden in his closet since age five. He mentions the woodshop teacher who got blood poisoning, and how he believed it was his fault for a long time. He mentions all the big lies that he's ever gotten away with.

Maybe, Shawn eventually thinks, the guilt he's been suffering from didn't mean anything real. Maybe his mother leaving just overwhelmed him, and all the bad shit from the past floated to the service.

And now he thinks Gus really was onto something, because he feels much better when he finishes. Still queazy, but it's a start.

"So... what do you think my problem is?" he decides to ask, catching his breath.

"The devil's got a hold of you, my son."

Simultaneously, he laughs, and his stomach drops.

"Okay, dontcha think that's kinda harsh—?"

"I'm quite serious. Your guilt, all these bad feelings and temptations... The fact that you came here for help is a miracle. I recommend heavy prayer, and perhaps a session with—"

Now, Shawn stares down the silhouette through the mesh wall, and raises his voice.

"You're _seriously_ accusing me of being under the influence of Lucifer himself? Well, that's quite the compliment, Father, but it's not what I came here for."

He promptly storms out of the booth, desperately ignoring the knives in his stomach and throat, and hears the other confessional door open.

"You're making a mistake!" the priest calls after him, sounding oddly like Henry. "Please, if you just renounce your evils, I can help."

_Yeah, renounce my fucking evils. My parents have both abandoned me, and I've bottled up so many emotions for the past ten years I can't tell which is which, and that makes ME_ _the devil._

The way some of the remaining churchgoers look at him before he makes it out the front doors, he just might be.

 

*

*

 

These days, he takes it as a compliment.

It's to be expected, when he's pretending to be a psychic—something commonly mistaken for witchcraft, which is somehow still seen as "messing with the devil." That, and he's grown to embrace being morally grey.

It's a bit of a thrill, pulling his psychic shtick and seeing people, both old and young, make the motion of the cross, or clutch their rosary beads. Or even call him, to his face, _Diablo_. _Lucifer_. _The Serpent of Eden_.

Shawn is extremely entertained, even as Gus is put off, that there are still rational human persons who think anything they don't understand must be evil. That his "psychicness" is pure observational ability and eidetic memory, something entirely supported by science, and yet when he displays it, he becomes a powerful supernatural _diety_ in some people's minds.

(Once or twice he's considered starting a cult, just to see how easily he could do it. But that would take too much work.)

For the most part, it's hilarious.

But when it's not, it's that feeling of nausea all over again.

It's why he's eager to leave that suicide case alone—simply hearing that it's at a Catholic school makes him cringe. It's why he refuses to suspect foul play to begin with. It's why seeing that stupid fake exorcism freaks him out so bad.

Shawn knows it's all fake, but he's still a human, so he can't help the doubt.

(If demons and possession could be real, then maybe there _was_ something wrong with him back then, and maybe there still is.)

(But they're not. They're _not_.)

 

*

 

" _You're_ the one who gave him blood poisoning!"

 

He doesn't know whether he's unnerved worse by the fact that she knows this, or by his memories of the incident with Mr. Reno.

_You might have killed our teacher, Shawn._

The man worked with rusty metal for a living.

_Why'd you have to put a tack on his chair, anyway? You're twelve years old, Shawn, not a child._

But wasn't he? It was just... a prank. It was supposed to be funny!

_Your son's a little devil of a kid, Spencer. Never liked him in my class._

Well, you were an idiot for not checking your seat—

 

There's no proof it was his fault. Hell, Shawn practically forgot about everything by the time he graduated high school—so why should he feel so bad now?

In some way, he's terrified that he'll be punished, all these years later. For at least the time that he's still in that girl's house, he's terrified something's coming for him.

 

*

 

Shawn is not a bad person, nor does he want to be. As fun as it might be to have others under the impression that he's the Dark Lord Of All Evil, he likes to think of himself as good.

Only an idiot would even _really_ think that of him, right?

Sure, he lies. His entire job revolves around decieving others, including people he really cares for. He steals from everyone he cares about, too—but only minor things! A little missing food isn't going to kill anyone, especially not Gus, who's eating constantly.

He lusts, but it's pretty old-fashioned to call that a sin. He lusts after multiple people at once and there's nothing wrong with that. He lusts after most genders he's come across, and there's nothing wrong with _that_.

He does't hurt anyone. He _solves_ murders! And maybe he's grown to be mostly apathetic by the sight of a dead body, but that's just part of the job.

He likes helping people who deserve it and vice versa with people who don't. He's passionate about _justice_ , the only difference between him and a certain head detective being that he doesn't operate within the law.

...He's a bit of a bully to that head detective, sometimes. Outside of their actual repertoire, he knows he's probably responsible for quite a few genuinely hurt feelings... but he still doesn't think that makes him a bad person.

If thinking about it in depth makes him _feel_ bad, doesn't that count for something? Shouldn't it?

 

*

 

"Well, you can tell your _senses_ to kiss my sweet... love biscuits."

 

After that horrendous faux-pas, Shawn's been repeatedly glancing to the _love biscuits_ in question this whole case. Admittedly, they live up to the hype.

Part of him just can't stop thinking about the fact that Lassie would refer to his ass that way. Part of him specifically wants to spite Father Westley and every other religious figure who's ever vaguely been in his life, along with every resident of this Catholic school. Part of him wants to outright confess to it, after the case, if only to see what Father Westley will say.

And if there's one constant about Shawn Spencer, it's that he can't resist an impulse like that.

 

"What about, uh—gay stuff. That still a sin?"

"Elaborate on that."

"I mean... you know that detective, the one with the huge ears—"

"Yes, I remember Detective Lassiter." Shawn hears a hint of a chuckle. "You're dating him, I suppose you mean to tell me."

"Um—" _I fucking wish,_ he wants to say. _Yes,_ he wants to say even more. "No. Not—not yet. Or honestly, I don't think we're even quite in a 'will they won't they' situation yet, it's more like... It's hard to explain. But what I do know for sure is that I've got a hardcore boner for him, and the kinda rivalry we have on cases like this one might as well be _foreplay_ —ha, sorry... too much information, right?"

"...If it makes you feel better, I've heard worse."

Shawn can feel his pupils get smaller in that moment. "Worse?"

"More explicit, I mean. I'm guessing you were under the impression I'd disapprove?"

"No offense, Father, but I couldn't care less if you disapproved."

"But you still thought I would."

"...Yeah, I guess."

"I'm not going to decide what you care about, Shawn, but why you would confess your feelings for Lassiter to me if you didn't want me to say something in return?"

Shawn frowns and folds his arms, feeling almost like he's nine years old again, back in Sunday School.

"Maybe I was hoping for an excuse to turn my back on this whole thing for good," he winds up telling him.

"Ah, I see that, heh. Well, if you'd like any advice with this situation... I can only assume that when you say _complicated_ , you mean there's strong feelings involved. Maybe another person you also have feelings for. But the fact that you wanted me to disapprove of _these_ feelings means they're serious. Lust aside, I think this is a good thing for you."

"So..." Damn. "With all that considered—all of the other 'sins' I do—do you think that I'm, um, that I need to—"

"Do penance? For most, I would recommend it, yes. But it's no help to someone who doesn't _want_ to do it."

"But do you think that I'm, like, a bad sinner? Or that I'm in Lucifer's clutches, or something?"

Considering his last confession, and how long ago it was, Shawn has no clue what to expect.

"We're all _sinners_ , Shawn. But, it's actually funny you should mention—see, we say 'the devil' and 'Satan' and 'Lucifer' interchangeably, but the ideas are actually quite different. For you to compare yourself to Lucifer, as he was known while still an archangel... He was an unloyal child of God's, and rebelled against his father. He was shunned from his home and, as many believe, went on to be the King of Hell, a place where justice is served. That's the core of it. And to be honest with you, I see the resemblance. I'd have thought someone like you would take pride in that."

He leaves soon after that, and tells Gus that he got what he needed out of it. This time he's telling the truth, mostly.

 

*

*

 

It's funny—hardly a month later, he's got another supernatural case. A man who claims to be cursed because all of his girlfriends keep getting injured. And the woman who ultimately turns out to be the murderer (attempted murderer? _murderess_?) tries to accuse Shawn of having cursed _her_ once she's arrested.

Lassiter laughs along with him, in the interrogation observation room.

"Believe it or not, Spencer, that's not the first person I've had try to argue that they were ' _cursed into going crazy and attempting murder_ '... I just wanna know why the hell she thought _you_ were the best person to accuse for that."

"Why, Lassie..." Shawn puts on his best offended look, and an affronted hand over his chest. "Didn't you _know_ I'm the Devil? Or did you miss all the souls I've collected in the station through fiddle-playing competitions."

That just makes him laugh more, probably in spite of himself, and slap a hand down on Shawn's shoulder.

"You _wish_ , Spencer."

He's never appreciated the accusation more.


End file.
